


Obsessions

by D_f_m22



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Non-Explicit Sex, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive-Compulsive, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_f_m22/pseuds/D_f_m22
Summary: The Mistress is an obsessive, but the Doctor already knew that.





	Obsessions

**Author's Note:**

> Little piece written tonight. Newish style for me, feedback appreciated.

The Mistress was an obsessive. 

An obsessive lover. 

An obsessive enemy. 

An obsessive megalomaniac. 

An obsessive psychopath. 

The list could go on for an eternity and the fact remained: whatever the Time Lady did, she did with an unhealthy level of obsession. 

The Doctor had long known this about his childhood friend. He’d witnessed it in their years at the Academy when young Koschei would be the last student in the library at night and the first there in the morning. He’d known it when he’d watched every one of the Master’s plans unravel and he’d spied the excessive blue prints and notes that had been stashed away and seized by UNIT. Even when his friend came to him in her most recent form, he'd sensed the familiar obsessive nature. From the way she plucked the fluff from his jacket lapels and straightened his clothes to the meticulous way she’d pinned her mane of hair back, it was evident that the Mistress was still as much a creature of habit as she’d always been. In amongst the storm of mania and madness, she craved an order that she pursued obsessively through rituals that often made sense to only her.

Still, he didn’t mind. They all had their quirks and if the Mistress wasn’t hurting anyone with her obsessions, who was he to judge? 

Over the years in the vault, the Time Lord was reminded just how obsessive the Mistress could be. 

XXXXXXXX

July 1937

“I didn’t move your flaming saucer!” 

The Doctor let out an exasperated sigh and looked at the daisy patterned saucer on the worktop, lined up next to a teapot painted with blue snails and two stacks of napkins. He was sure it was still in the same place it had been earlier that morning when Nardole had been down to do the daily chores. The cyborg knew not to move anything the Time Lady had set up, even the slightest alteration would be noticed. 

“It’s not flaming, just china, you won’t let me near flammable things remember?” Missy shot back, a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in accusation. “I still can’t keep my hair in place since you confiscated the hair spray!” 

“Yes, and that was because of what you did with the tablecloth,” the Doctor sighed. Running his hand over his face, he let out a weary sigh and glared at Missy. “Anyway, we’re not having this discussion again. Now’s not the time.” 

“You’re right,” Missy nodded in agreement. “Back to the topic in hand and why you thought you had the right to move my saucer.” 

“I didn’t touch it, Missy!” The Doctor exclaimed for the umpteenth time. “I promise you.” 

“Well someone did,” Missy declared. 

In an instant the Time Lady disappeared out of the kitchen area and returned carrying a ring binder and ruler. Dropping the folder onto the table, she flipped through a few pages and pointed at a colour coordinated chart. 

“Daisy-patterned saucer,” she read out. “15cm in to the work top. I also have the co-ordinates if you’d like them. You measure where it is now” she said offering the ruler. 

The Doctor reluctantly took the ruler and scowled as he read the new position of the saucer as 14.5cm. Anyone but Missy wouldn’t have noticed, the Doctor would have to ensure Nardole was more careful in his work. Missy, watching from over his shoulder, made a triumphant clucking noise. 

“I’ll accept your apology on postcards, psychic paper and a flyover,” Missy preened. “You’ve always been clumsy, dear.” 

“It wasn’t—” The Doctor started. “Oh, forget it. Look, I accidentally moved your saucer a 0.5 of a centimetre. I’m sorry, okay?” 

Missy looked up in the air and made a show of searching for something. 

“I see no flyover,” she sighed in disappointment. “But okay, I suppose I forgive you this time.” 

The Doctor nodded, happy that a fragile calm had been restored and ninety percent certain Nardole had been shielded from his mishap unscathed. 

“You know,” the Doctor said carefully. “You could try and be a little less controlling about things like this.” 

Missy tilted her head and considered the Doctor. For a while, she looked as though she might have been considering the suggestion. When the Doctor returned to the vault the next day, however, he was dismayed to find a makeshift fence guarding the crockery worktop. In front of the fence was a handmade sign that read: ‘Clumsy Time Lords (and protected cyborgs) be careful, decapitation will follow.’ 

The Doctor quickly made Missy re-word her warning. 

XXXXXXXX

June 1940 

A Mistress that is obsessively loving was the Doctor’s favourite type of obsessive. 

There was only two people that she had ever loved, and he was the only one still alive. It meant that all her love and attention was showered on him with a devotion that would put the most devout to shame. Sometimes, the Doctor accepted her obsessive passion with open arms. It was a pleasant respite from the cold universe that was too often too harsh. 

Today, as the projection windows filter an evening sunset, was one of those days. In fact, it was the third in a row of one of those days.

The Doctor knew that living linearly on Earth would mean that he had to re-live some of the planet’s darker chapters, he just hadn’t been braced for it when the horrors of humanity presented themselves to him in the form of three of his students killed in action abroad in one week. All the youth and promise of bright futures had been wiped out in an instant. Unable to hide his devastation, the Doctor had retreated into the vault and found solace in the Missy’s waiting arms. 

The Mistress had been more than happy to provide him the comfort he craved. 

“I love you,” Missy whispered into the shell of his ear. It was the Gallifreyan declaration of devotion and used the eternal tense. “I love you more than anything and anyone in the universe and if anything happened to you, I’d burn it all.” 

Laying lazily on her bed with their bodies pressed together, the Doctor turned and stared into Missy’s eyes. They burned with a furious devotion and he knew she meant every word. It was hard to know how to respond to her, so he didn’t. Instead, he rolled them over until the full weight of him was on top of her and leaned in to cover her mouth in a kiss. 

They made love softly. 

That was until Missy took over and they fucked madly, or even obsessively. 

Afterwards, as the rested together tired and spent, the Doctor pressed a chaste kiss to Missy’s forehead. 

“I love you too.” 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

February 1982

One winter, when the Doctor was rushed and overworked her was happy to take advantage of Missy’s obsessions. 

One hundred and fifty essays would have taken the Doctor hours to mark- his attention span running thin. 

They took Missy an hour. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

April 2017 

Missy was delighted to be gifted her piano. 

It was shiny and new and made beautiful music and stood centre stage in her vault. Best of all, it had been gifted to her by the Doctor. It was a prized treasure and it was all hers. 

Inevitably, when the piano arrived so did a new obsession. 

“Is she still playing?” The Doctor asked as he arrived outside the vault one evening. 

Nardole nodded. 

“Five days straight, sir.” He said pointedly. “It might well work as a distraction while you’re gallivanting with Miss Potts, but I fear it is too much of a distraction. She hasn’t eaten or bathed or slept or done anything but play the piano!”

The Doctor swallowed and nodded. 

“You can go now, Nardole.” 

As the cyborg took his leave, the Doctor entered the vault. He found Missy hunched over the piano, playing another Beethoven piece. Her hair was a mess and he feared she was thinner than when he’d last seen her. 

“It’s time for dinner now, Missy” the Doctor said. He was unused to not receiving a welcome of some form from the Time Lady. “Leave the piano for now.” 

Missy didn’t acknowledge his word at all and continued to play, this time with more urgency. 

“Enough now, Missy” the Doctor pressed. When she continued to ignore him, he approached her and held her wrists pulling them away from the keys gently. He scowled at the wet blood running down her fingers and intermingling with the dried blood. “I said enough.” 

Missy looked up and blinked. 

“I love my piano though,” she said calmly. “And I play it so well.” 

“You do,” the Doctor agreed. “But too much of something is never good. Look, you’ve hurt yourself.” 

“I have,” Missy nodded. “But I need to keep playing.”

“No,” the Doctor shook his head. “You need to stop.” 

Missy didn’t argue. 

The Doctor started to bandage her hands. 

A piano schedule was enforced. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

October 1999

 

Missy ate slowly, cutting each piece of food into tiny chunks and chewing forty-four times. 

The Doctor let her. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

May 2017

“I’m not angry,” the Doctor said calmly. “I want to know why.” 

 

Missy looked down at her arm, scarred with cuts and shrugged. 

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Yes, you do.” 

 

Three seconds of silence followed. 

 

“It’s punishment,” Missy said eventually. “Now I remember their names, I need to punish myself.”

 

The Doctor inhaled.

 

“No,” he shook his head. “Not like this you don’t. We’re learning together and you’re learning healthy ways to be good. This isn’t one of them.” 

 

“But this is my routine now,” Missy protested. “Every time I remember someone I’ve killed, I have to hurt myself.”

 

“No,” the Doctor said. “I’m not letting you do this. I let you get away with some of your obsessions, but this will not be one of them.”

 

They don’t talk about that one of the Mistress’ obsessions again. The Doctor does, however, keep a closer eye on her. 

 

XXXXXXXX

 

Some of her obsessions, weren’t all bad. 

The different phases she goes through with human culture is a perk the Doctor enjoys. The latest sees Missy obsessively watching Frozen every evening and memorising the film line by line. As the credits roll and the Doctor observed Missy dressed in Frozen pyjamas and cuddling an Olaf stuffed toy, he couldn’t help but smile. 

 

“Why do you do it?” He asked casually when he is caught watching her. “All the obsessions? You can’t do anything by halves, can you?” 

 

Missy shook her head. 

 

“That would be boring, dear” she shrugged. “I think we both know that extremes are more fun.” 

 

Reaching for the control, Missy pressed the play button and begun the film again. 

 

“Extremes are more fun,” he reasoned. “But I hope you can learn to moderate your extremes.” 

 

“Moderate extremes,” Missy hummed. “I guess we’ve got time to try.”


End file.
